


The Whole Ballgame

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Baseball Shenanigans, Casual!Hannibal, Crack, Jack is overbearing, M/M, Oriole Bird - Freeform, Orioles, Will needs a damn break, post wotl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5901232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Crawford is going to fix Will Graham if it kills him. Hannibal is going to win Will if it kills him. Will might just kill them both and watch the rest of the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Whole Ballgame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mwuahna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mwuahna/gifts).



> A fic inspired by a pic, or what happens when I’m getting ready for baseball season.

_A picture is worth 1,000 words, unless it's a picture of Mads, then it's worth about 2,000 apparently._

The worst part of surviving the fall wasn’t waking up alone, although Will spent many nights in the hospital tearfully believing that to be true. No, the worst part of surviving the fall was Jack motherfucking Crawford, Will’s new best friend. Jack had swooped into the hospital on the second night, looked at Will’s tear-stained face and decided to fix what he had broken.

With Jack’s usual gusto, he had spectacularly overshot the mark. Will was currently sleeping in Jack’s guest bedroom and sharing every meal with his former boss while he recuperated. 

Jack drove him to physical therapy. Will’s brand of whiskey magically appeared on the counter. When Will mentioned missing the dogs, Jack was on the phone in minutes. The next day Winston and Buster were at the breakfast table when Will stumbled downstairs. 

When Will made noises about finding a place of his own, now that he had reasonable range of motion back in his arm, Jack balked. Will suspected it had more to do with Jack’s fear of living in an empty home filled with Bella’s memories. Will could relate, every time he closed his eyes he could see Hannibal’s smile, the one he gave Will just before they hit the water.

In hopes of distracting himself and Jack, Will had suggested fishing. Two hours and a near drowning later, Jack had declared water sports to be off the table. Undeterred, Jack searched for an activity that he and Will could do together. Will found himself being dragged to every male bonding event Jack could think of.

This week was baseball. Jack was apparently an Orioles fan and somehow thought crowds, drunks, and an unusually humid spring day would appeal to Will. Jack steered Will through the crowds at Camden Yards to a noisy rooftop bar that overlooked center field. Jack ordered two beers before running off toward the team store. When he returned, a bright orange cap was shoved on Will’s head, crushing sweaty curls onto the empath’s brow.

“Now you’re ready for a game.”

“Walter would have loved this.” Jack’s face fell and Will briefly felt like a shit for raining on his good intentions.

“You’ll see Will, this is going to be great. A couple of rounds here and we’ll head to the seats. You’ll be begging to get your picture with the Oriole Bird before the seventh inning stretch!”

Will doubted that hugging a teenager in an unwashed 6-foot bird costume would do much for his depression, but he never thought he’d be mooning after a cannibal psychiatrist either.

Will’s phone rang. He answered it, not caring who was calling as long as it got him a reprieve from Jack’s aggressive sympathies.

“Will you never consider another cologne?” Hannibal’s accent was unmistakable, as was the sudden tightness in Will’s chest.  

Will turned bright red and choked on his beer.

“You alright?” Jack slapped Will’s back as the empath sputtered.

“Fine, fine, just went down the wrong pipe.” Will shifted the phone in his hand. “My lawyer, it’s about the divorce.”

“Oh.” Jack’s hand stayed on Will’s back, the pounding slaps had evolved into a sympathetic shoulder squeeze. “I was hoping you two could work it out.” 

So was Molly. But Will had known the second he grabbed Dolarhyde’s blade to slay the dragon that he would never come back to her. Not the Will she loved, certainly not the Will she wanted raising her son. A clean break was best. A clean break would also get Hannibal’s attention, not that Will had thought about it.

“Some things just aren’t meant to work out.” Will replied, glancing back at the phone.

Jack downed the rest of his pint and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m going to hit the head, you take your time with the lawyer, ok?”

Will made himself count to five before he put the phone back to his ear.

“Where are you?” He hissed into the phone, heart beating wildly.

“Close enough to buy you some peanuts and crackerjacks.”

Will whipped his head around, seeing nothing but a sea of Orioles fans shuffling to and from the terrace. He looked for an orange plaid suit, briefly considered what Hannibal would look like in a bespoke jersey.

“Don’t let it bother you, Will,” He could hear the amusement in Hannibal’s voice. “Uncle Jack doesn’t see me either, and he’s much closer.”

Will turned to find Jack, standing in a bathroom line at the far corner of the bar. In front of him was a giant man in a Macchado jersey and orange camouflage shorts – certainly not his cannibal. Behind Jack was a harried looking father trying desperately to corral two small boys.

A movement caught his eye. Lounging on a rattan chair on the roof deck was Hannibal ‘The Cannibal’ Lecter, drinking a beer not four feet from the head of the BAU. Will was shocked at just how well Hannibal blended in with the baseball crowd. His hair was longer,  and carelessly swept back from his brow. Salt and pepper stubble accentuated the hard line of his jaw but softened the harsh planes of his face. Will wondered what that stubble would taste like if he sucked kisses along Hannibal’s jaw. He caught Will’s eye and winked before turning his attention back to the field.

“You’re staring.”

It was hard not to. Clad in jeans and a casual blue button-down, opened tantalizingly at the neck, Hannibal looked every bit the rumpled working stiff, ready to unwind with a few beers. The sleek predator Will had known was well hidden.

“No wonder Jack didn’t notice you. Your shirt’s wrinkled, for Christ’s sake.”

Hannibal smiled.

“One tries to blend in. I regret that I couldn’t find a t-shirt to my liking in the team store.”

Will scoffed.

“I never knew you were an Orioles fan. Is that why you left me, Dr. Lecter? Had to catch Spring Training?”

“I delivered you from the water, stabilized your wounds, and departed,” Hannibal’s voice had lost its warmth. “I gave you the chance to forget me that you wanted so desperately.”

“I didn’t want to forget.” Will tugged the cap lower on his forehead, hoping the tears in his eyes were hidden from the rest of the bar.

“Then Will, I suppose the question is: What do you want?” Hannibal stretched lazily in the chair, the picture of ease.

“You.” It was barely a whisper. After a few moments of silence, Will wondered if Hannibal had heard him over the din of the bar.

“You had me twice, Will. The first time you betrayed me to Jack, the second you tossed me off a cliff. I believe this will be your third strike.” Hannibal got up and walked toward the steps, passing behind an oblivious Jack as he navigated the crowd.

“So you stalked me to a baseball game just to let me know you’re over me? Did you even know how many strikes someone got? Or did you ask someone to make sure you could use the metaphor?” Will signaled for the bartender.

“I would argue that my hesitations about you are well-founded.”

“And yet, here you are, performing in front of Jack just to get my attention,” Will felt his scar pull on his cheek and realized he was smiling. “I won’t betray us again. I know what I want now.”

“Then what shall we do with Uncle Jack? Or are you going to tell him you’re having a friend sleep over?” Will had a brief vision of camping in front to the television with Hannibal as Jack brings them popcorn. His vision shifted to a more realistic image of a blood soaked Hannibal standing over Jack’s prostrate body.

“Don’t hurt Jack. Promise me Hannibal.”

“I will promise you to stay my hand unless I must save you or myself.”

“Good enough.” Will handed the bartender his card. “Just give me a few days to get the dogs and find an excuse to get away.”

“We leave tonight, Will. Everything is ready.”

“Hannibal, I want to bring the dogs. I can’t just leave them with Jack.”

“I think Jack would be delighted to have some company. He certainly clings to you with a fervor.”

“I want my dogs, Hannibal.”

“That’s why they’re waiting at the airport.”

Will laughed, of course they were.

“You broke into Jack’s house and stole my dogs.”

“I made preparations for your departure. I also packed some of your less objectionable clothes, though I admit I may have forgotten to pack your cologne.”

Will took his card back from the bartender and considered the piece of plastic.

“What would you have done if I said ‘no’?”

“I would have started my new life in Argentina weeping piteously into Winston’s fur.”

“You could do worse, he’s very absorbent,” A hand grabbed Will’s shoulder. Jack looked at him questioningly. Will got his breathing under control and signaled that he needed another minute. “Should I leave now?”

“I believe there is something called a seventh inning stretch. Would you care to meet me at the Russell Street entrance then? That should give you plenty of time to get Uncle Jack inebriated. Buy him a hotdog for me. ”

“I’ll see you then. Goodbye Larry.” Will ended the call and slipped the phone in his back pocket.

Will felt a buzzing in his chest as Jack led him to his seat. As soon as they settled, Will waved over the beer man. By the end of the sixth inning, Jack was noticeably unsteady and Will was bouncing in his seat.

“I told you you’d get into this!” Jack slapped Will’s shoulder just a bit too hard, his words starting to mush together. “Let’s go Os!”

Will smiled, he’d rarely seen Jack this happy. He felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. Who knew Hannibal texted?

_I regret to inform you that I am canceling our rendezvous. I have found another._

The next message was a selfie. Hannibal Lecter, noted cannibal and number 2 on the FBI’s most wanted list, had his arm wrapped around a six foot orange bird.

Will snorted, turning to hide his laugh from Jack.

“I’m going to hit the head,” Will patted Jack’s shoulder. “Thanks Jack, this was just what I needed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know what the Oriole Bird looks like? Here he is: http://www.baltimoresun.com/media/photo/2013-05/75932538.jpg


End file.
